Wednesday, 13 September 2017

howl if you must.

take me on that tangent
that you go on,
the one where we mount
trusted steeds
to ride the high streets
shouting "fuck the world!"
and other noble insults.

take me to the place 
where everything is natural,
where we fill up on spinach
and the wonder of the stars,
pitch rocks into unfathomably
deep holes and in nearly
diabolical thinking, strip our skins
so we can be truly naked.

take me now, while we're dancing.
you choose the music
while i play something
sexy and evil.
within this skin
lie the secrets of the visceral. 
i drag them out
and lay them at your table.

take me here, where the mercies
that you seek must be fought for,
muscles must melt and
beasts must bay at the moon
before this is finished.
it is an irresponsible sky 
that watches over 
our dark acts.

take me to the brink as
the whole darkness 
consumes us.
sink your talons deep
into my breast, for my
sweet meats lie within.
show no sorrow,
plunge deep to scoff 
upon my entrails
before the palsy happens.

take me to the point where
i am tipping.
wicked is the sin that trips us 
when all i feel is
st. vitus dancing
up my spine and our loins 
explode with truth serum
to leave us dripping 
with significance.

Saturday, 2 September 2017

this is a story about a balloon.

(ziggy stardust, david bowie album tribute gig 6/8/17)

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music 
i was sure had been written for me.

i camp out in car parks, in weather, in band shirts, in tight jeans, in sleeping bags and in fan packs, flicking off spiders and jonesing for a glimpse of you.

i lie awake dreaming that perhaps maybe someday we will actually, realistically meet. i mean literally, in the flesh. and if that did happen finally, hopefully. maybe i'd say something funny, something funny enough to flick the switch on the beer light and your sweet, sweet hands will get to know me down to the bones.

i hang out with girlfriends, your songs on repeat, riffs rewinding endlessly, endlessly. (can you hear me major tom)? we we do each other's make up to look just like you then we make up scenarios about you and me and you and her and you and me and her.

we draw pictures in our school books then on rainy nights and full moons carve your name in my arm with a compass so you will never leave me. we'd mix our blood with poster paint to plaster on tshirts and in our bedrooms we'd dance and dance and dance, your image on my walls watching over us like a saint. we'd use you for kissing practice as ziggy jammed with the jean genie and our mothers didn't understand any of it.

we were mesmerized, screwed,
we were licked, we were hanging.

there is only one light.

and when i am actually, physically with you, when i'm there in the stadium, when i am one with the masses i push you and i push you and i scream out your name in you thin white face and i'm insane at how insane your music makes me it's like your guitar is jacking my brain.

we never saw it coming.

red mist and red wrists
you took me to mars,
covered in a stardust blanket
i would follow you anywhere.

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice from beyond as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music
i was sure had been written
just for me.

Monday, 28 August 2017

is it any wonder?

(fame, david bowie tribute gig 6/8/17)

i'm busy using gold to pass the time
find a penny, find the line
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

can't see the trees but the forest is near
do you remember the time we were clear?
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

if it quacks like a duck then follow it
if it smells like paradise follow it
gotta get a raincheck on pain. 

i fly like a kite so i don't pay the fees
of my rock star responsibilities 
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

what i need is in your face
what i get is worth the chase
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

sipping cocktails in a land called fame
the pyros fire up in hollow lane
i'm busy using gold to pass the time
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

only the good.

it was a very poetic moment
as she raised the frying pan
above her head, 
bared her teeth
and swung balletic with 
such momentum
he could swear this time
she would actually, finally
take flight.

it was a familiar dance, 
where he would read
a thousand nightmares
in her eyes while
she spewed profanities
and lashed out at the world, 
a screaming banchee.
in a theatre of war 
she would have been a major general.

the battle, he knew
was inside her head,
private, not for him to fight. 

so he retrieves her
tiny frame from the floor,
plants kisses on her forehead 
and tells her the only war cry he knows.
"only the good die young baby".
and hopes like hell
that it isn't true.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

ripped off #10 (crazy - willy nelson)


i'm crazy for trying,
trying to negotiate an 
adult relationship
in the face of such
childish behaviour. 
i can take the wandering songs,
but not the molasses.

i'm crazy for trying to
make a connection
that can wrap us in answers
to all the hard questions, 
so that it lasts more than
one month
one week
one night.

i'm crazy for trying to
show you my ever lovin' heart,
to be your rock
when all you wanted
was to roll on down the road
to places and people unknown.

i'm crazy,
crazy for thinking
these blues are gunna lift
when you walk into view,
because the bass beat you carry
has a black dog numbness
about it,
about you,

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

yeah we all felt good.

(me & bobby mcgee janis joplin tribute gig 2016)

following the circus of dirty romance
young, raw and free
we would shoot through highway veins
and live the black tar lifestyle
where far away is never far enough. 

hell bent and holding distance in our hands 
we owned nothing but my harpoon 
and bobby's song.
with nothing left to lose we were doing something,  
we were moving. 
we both played hard till
bobby got the blues so bad
the only way out was to sing it.

we sought the road like drugs,
like bad advice. 
holding hands and killing time
it wasn't til we found a ride
that bobby really shone.
yeah we all felt good when 
bobby sang the blues.

celebrating our victories
at truck stop diners
from st louis to cedar city 
we'd strip our skins in parking lots
beside the road that keeps on glinting. 
then as the skies opened up
we were pushing anything
to bring comfort to the pain.

but i kept getting nasty
as we headed down the line, 
chasing a hit that wasn't there.
we thought we were free, but
we were slaves to each other, 
and love, and the byways. 
then when bobby couldn't take it
the road took bobby away
leaving me chasing the horizon
in a pursuit that never ends.  

yeah, we all felt good when 
bobby sang the blues. 

still, on cold, wet nights i pull out my bandana,
kiss my harp and call out bobby's name.

yeah we all felt good when bobby sang the blues.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

ripped off #9 (everybody's got something to hide except me & my monkey - the beatles)

everybody's tripping my footsteps,
got something leading to
something slippery, jittery, glittery 
to kill my vibe.
hide me from the darkness 
except when it takes
me out of the chaos
and when that happens 
my suitcase will pack itself and my
monkey and i are out of here.

Sunday, 21 May 2017

ripped off #8 (jungle love - steve miller band)

i love you for your crazy love
your mad crazy love
i love you mad crazy 
crazy love crazy love. 
i make you wait to
make you crazy
crazy love. 
peaches and cream your love
with peaches and cream love
love creamandpeacheslove
making you crazy 
pouring with rain
making me wet your love
your love pours
pouring like your questions
your attention questions
mad with rain and crazy,
crazy love. 

Friday, 19 May 2017

ripped off #7 (monkey in your soul - steely dan)

you'll be back.

i hear you snoring in the next room. 
you love falling asleep on the couch
hate waking with dagger in the neck neck.

you roar even before you open your eyes. 
you love being primal
hate the way your instincts make you feel. 

i hold all the assets.
you love that i'm responsible 
hate that you can't take responsibility.

i see you through the studio window. 
you love when i watch
hate you have to fight for any attention. 

you storm out at the scent of an argument.
you love the crazy in me
hate that you can't control the monkey in my soul. 

Sunday, 14 May 2017

ripped off #6 (canary in a coalmine - the police)

i am your canary in a coal mine.
you send me deep,
into the dark recesses
of your consciousness. 
clumsily, hopelessly i stumble, 
and in one sentence
i am caged, ready
to go underground.

it's like you need me there
to keep you safe
when you think about the demons,
to remember the battles,
you watch my face
to know when you are
digging too deep. 

then when we can't hold
our breath any longer
you pull me up
press your lips to mine
to forget the 
subterranean nightmare.
you can't go there unguarded 
so i am the canary in your coalmine.

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

ripped off #5 (hide your love away - the beatles)


out on the tundra 
under pressure,
especially the staring,
daring citizens with
good intentions
mention i should just
"shut the fuck up"
so i keep walking.

from a distance
mist precedes your arrival. 
i dry my face
and trace the path 
to your door.
you say
"shut the fuck up."
and i keep walking.

seems so easy
sleazy people bounce
from room to room
from bed to bed. 
i can't abide
those kinds so i
shut the fuck up
and hide.

Sunday, 7 May 2017

ripped off #4 (december - collective soul)


there's a word for the surge that you give me
when i'm looking for a very mellow drama
while december whispers of treachery.

incantations put us both in jeopardy 
take the curtains from the windows for now
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

i'm caught in the thrawl of heavy delicacies
don't let the blindfold slip baby
while december whispers of treachery. 

your fingers have their own blessed memory
strip my skin so i can be truly naked
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

now be bold and prepare the weaponry
a soldier rarely multitasks
while december whispers of treachery.

fear of the future has it's hooks in me
so explode with me while there's still time
there's a word for the surge that you give me
while december whispers of treachery. 

Sunday, 30 April 2017

ripped off #3 (i wish i was your mother - mott the hopple)

playtime is over.

pretending the motions
of a happy ending
i come up short.

we can't live on wishes
or second rate love songs,
the rabbit hole calls me.

and it doesn't matter
how many secret altars 
i build
i'll never get far
without crossing a few

playtime is over,
the drawbridge is up. 

ripped off #2 (badlands - bruce springsteen)


the clay that i am made of
crumbles back into the landscape.
it's gully dry
and sunset will surely catch me,
wrap me in a blanket 
of badlands hospitality.

this mother nature's cradle
is full of nettles and shale
but my boots keep moving,
through the badlands
through the undergrowth 
which is the only growth 
around these parts.

this glorious colour pallette 
ain't gunna save me
when every road i walk on
keeps crumbling into dust.
i blend with the canyons
as distant mesas forshadow
the way through the badlands
and it ain't no sin to be glad to be alive.

Monday, 24 April 2017

ripped off #1 (film noir - gaslight anthem)


i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
dancing around, a true fool in the night
until we consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

one note to burn, ripped from my broken heart
i'm leaving and i ain't coming back
cos you lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

i take the burning roadside,
drive circles round the blazing life i had
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

no one's gunna tell you, no one's gunna say
the bricks you hit will sometimes knock you down
but i lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

and we're all travelling down the same damn line
building from the ashes then sparking the match again
until it consumes the walls and roof of your house.

there's a dirty music soundtrack on the long and open road,
it's left me bloody, but i keep on rolling on
cos i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

Sunday, 22 November 2015


(what do you do for money honey? ac/dc tribute gig, 24-11-15)

you see me riding round in cars
and hanging out in bars
i'll sell it wherever there's a dollar.
i dress in leathers red
in the car or on a bed
i'll suck your money clean right off the dresser.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

you think i'm at your command
and the deeds that you demand
are taking pieces of my very soul,
but i can tell you honey
once i got your money
everything i touch round here is gold.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

there's no mystery to this bitch
i'm gunna strike it rich
from schoolboy punks to beaks with big fat wallets.
from up here the view is fine,
close the doors and pour the wine
i'm the business, the pushing, shoving,
          grabbing, stabbing, kneeling, taking business.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys with cum.

the wuthering

(wuthering heights, kate bush tribute gig 20-8-15)

there is a forever that lies in destiny,
a cold temper.
i have been here forever, wiley, windy.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

i am the sound of your childhood,
a sonata for sleepless nights
weaving a semi incestuous tale
set in a dark, dank world
lit with candles and desire.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home)  

i let the sunshine come
but softly, and sometimes, 
and then i bring the wuthering
to rip through your guts
like the slice of the knife
and you just cannot seem
to find your way home.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

windows keep you from each other
but not from the nightmares,
bad dream madness that reduces 
you to capes in the night.
and only the earth can put it right 
only death can unite this unholy coupling.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

you think that love is noble
but i am black crow sick.
i am the tempest, hot and greedy,
and it is a poisoned morning
that makes me take you,
ripping across your trembles and sighs
to make them wrack every damn window.

                (heathcliff, cathy, come home)

i can give you moments, 
but not years,
i can give you forever, 
but not now.
love will lift you up
but the devil drags you 
down to me. 
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 


Wednesday, 8 April 2015


the officer said
"you should always try
to celebrate the victories"
we will be the hollow winners
over being stuffed in a car boot
or down a back alley
we will be a walking testimony
through the parks and streets
without it being in memorial
we will be the warrior women
(and the weapons that i carry
make me bold)
and if ever there's a time to hold
our heads high it is now.

nightmare #1

it started in nightmares
there were always crowds
and the crowds were always festive
often there was food involved
long tables lavished with plates
and platters full of every food group
the message seemed to be
nourish the humans
(while there's still time)
sometimes they were outside
in the parklands, where the
melancholic nightbirds and
rustling undergrowth
did not dampen the
celebratory spirit
i clearly remember the feasting
i was gorging with the best of them
the rest of them
until all of them
turned into vampires.
it is a very real fear
in dreams
hot body spasms
and it's not so much 
their vampire teeth
and catacomb breath
as the thrill that shines
from behind their eyes
as they swoop,
and i run.

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

ode to my gut

in facing the fear 
i find myself wanting 
wanting the paralysis
to stop wracking
my body
wanting to reach out 
for anything with meaning 
wanting, even, to do
penance for my lacking...
it comes from my core
you see 
i let my gut 
control my every move 
it wants nothing 
but attention. 

queen of my nieces

i only have a very short time
to be queen of my nieces,
where i get to blow bubbles
on heir tummies,
whisper christopher robin
in their ears,
tell them stories they don't 
understand yet
but one day will.

it's our time to dress up
in butterflies and gumboots,
tiaras and tulle,
the time to sell mudpies for $500
and for falling over on the grass
cos you've spun too fast in excitement.
it's a time to sit close on the sofa
reading books about bears
and reluctant cats who complain loudly.

already you are changing
as i try to catch your attentions
with treasures from the past,
the art and the music that moved me
as we paste and draw and climb trees
and drink tea made of sand
in the fantasyland
where i'm queen of my nieces.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

no headstone

the stonemason's grave
has no headstone 
the pictures you drew 
have no heart
the night creatures prowl
the streets that i wander
the saints that i follow 
are getting me lost. 

i imagine the blood 
the moon must carry
i return to the earth 
for surrender
the wind fills my ears,
without my permission
and i cannot forget 
the stonemason's grave. 

Wednesday, 1 April 2015


it's five minutes to midnight
and i'm taking a clown's advice,
it's laced with ennui and cynicism
and dick jokes that
we can both laugh at.

i buy him a meal because
i can see that he has been crying,
and over his black coffee steam 
he tells me to abandon the tightrope
and hitch myself to a carny
cos the best any of us 
can expect is mud.

outside the world remains 
ringleader distant, and it's late but there
is still news to deliver.
i promise to plant mushrooms
on his grave so he can carry on
entertaining the living.

Thursday, 15 May 2014


So you're sitting on the bus only the bus isn't going anywhere, the bus is stationary/The bus is stationary, you are going nowhere/You have boarded this bus in the hope of going somewhere/You have boarded this bus with the expectation of going places/There is a rumble, a rumble underneath/The bus rumbles under you to signal the ignition of the engine/The engine is starting up and your expectations grow/The bus remains stationary but has the potential for movement/You now have potential/You now have potential but no control/

The bus moves/You have no control so you move too/Now you are moving you have lost your potential to move/You now have no potential and no control/You still have your expectations/Your expectations to go places has stopped growing but remains high/The bus moves on/The bus is going places/You are going places/This is a good thing as you are looking for your place/Once upon a time you thought you knew your place but you were wrong/Things went wrong at your place until it wasn't your place anymore/Your place for now is the back of a bus, a bus that is going places/

The bus moves quickly/The bus increases your speed to such an extent that you are left with that awful feeling in your gut/You are feeling awful/The buses speed increases/The nausea in your gut increases to tell you that you have no idea who is driving this bus or your destination/Your gut is telling you that this is a critical juncture in your trip/Your nauseous gut is now explaining that you should have checked a few things before boarding/You think your gut has some nerve waiting til now to speak up/You keep your mouth shut/You stumble to the front of the bus where the driver tells you this is the express/The bus driver then commands you back to your seat with a series of hand gestures/You are sent with a series of hand gestures back to your seat with no more information than when you left it/Your gut reemerges to tell you you'd better find a fucking clue and fast, faster than this psychedelic succubus can go/

Things take a turn for the worst/You take a turn for the worst/The bus makes a turn that takes you into dangerous territory/Your expectations do not so much drop as take a diabolical turn/Our potential has now turned sinister/The bus is still moving/The bus is still moving but you are no longer going places, you are going to a place – to a place unknown/

Now there is no outside, now there is only inside, inside the bus/Places have vanished to be replaced by the inside of the bus/You look around/You look around yourself but do not like what you see/What you see is not so much the inside of the bus as the inside of a syphilitic brain from the eighteen hundreds/What is really around you is the culmination of every childhood nightmare you ever suffered /

Things emerge from the surface of the pus/Emerging things surface in a threatening way/The bus speeds through unseen places/You wish you could see the places you are speeding through but all you can see are the threatening shapes emerging from the surface of the pus/The emerging shapes turn into circus clowns in name only as they assume positions you have only ever read about in the darkest pornography/They leer at you and lick their lips in a vicious invitation/They threaten you/You are threatened with a fervor that brings the snakes out/The snakes come out to become involved with the sex acts you are witnessing/Your bile rises/Your bile rises and your screams in no way indicate your approval of the situation/The skin crawls right off your body/You try to fight it but the snakes slither right under your skin, flaying you in a very non-consensual way/You are consenting to nothing/The blessed darkness takes you, but not for long/The darkness isn't long but long enough to make you think that this catastrophe has finally stopped, you think you have finally fucking reached your destination/You think you may have reached your destination but the torment starts all over again/

The torment starts all over again with a phosphorescent  stench as fire shoots through your spine/The bus speeds on, oblivious to your pain/The sideshow slaughterhouse continues and dismembered limbs are thrown to smack you around the face and body/Your face and body are slimed by the secretions of a thousand sex acts/

The live ones rise/The live ones rise up/You can see in their eyes they are not yet satisfied/Their heavy makeup, gruesome smiles and erect cocks in no way indicate any satisfaction/You look/You look at their gruesome smiles and you think they are dancing a jig but the jigs they are dancing are actually death throes and grand mal seizures/The carnage continues as the bus careens through places unknown/You don't know the place you will end up but as the dwarfs and misfits approach you are approaching a place of acceptance, acceptance of your own demise/

The bus slams to a staggering stop/The bus stops so staggeringly that you stagger back to smash your head against the back window with the inertia of the situation/The inertia of the situation smashes your head on the back window then throws you forward, through the monstrosities happening around you, through the now open door at the front of the bus/You are birthed from the bus so abruptly, thrown to the curb in a dark alley next to a nowhere truck stop so fast that you do not even have time to tip the driver/

Wednesday, 30 April 2014


lou reed is not tom waits.

turns out that morrissey was writing gay love songs.

elvis in leather, oh my.

when it takes longer to listen to a song than write it 
you must have a bustle in your hedgerow.

the verb to use for listening to music through earbuds
is mainlining.

blondie is.

back to the reed/waits thing, they are both actual angels,
it's just...

some songs demand spontaneous dancing, they are your totems.

twenty nine

to talk about adoration
with the moon.

initially i didn't know
the moon,
but she knew me.

now i only know the moon
from a lover's perspective.

what about the moon
of limited pleasure?

sometimes she pulls
back, but only
with a view
to fullness.

to talk with adoration
about the moon.

Monday, 28 April 2014

twenty eight

take me on that tangent
that you go on,
you know,
the one where we mount 
trusted steeds,
ride through the high streets
shouting *fuck the world
and other noble insults
at the gawping mainstream.

take me to that place
where everything is natural.
where we fill up
on the wonder of the stars,
work hard in the sun
and rain serves to cleanse
and nourish
and grow the amazing.

Sunday, 27 April 2014

twenty seven

my lover said
"coffee is bad
for your heart
my darling."
selfish bastard.
we both sit
and watch
my mortality drip
through the filter
and everything has
the smell of coffee 
about it
and the feeling of
a biting snake,
and to the point.

Saturday, 26 April 2014

twenty six

the bitch card.

i'd rather sail the void
than swim it,
rather dance with devils
than meet them in the park,
i'd rather walk away from the fight
than bring it,
rather burn from both ends
than live in the dark.

i'd rather plan the revolution 
than use it,
rather play my own game
than sticking to the rules,
i'd rather find a pot of gold
than lose it,
rather burn my bridges
than hang around with fools

i'd rather play the bitch card
than let the fuckers win,
rather take my chances
on one almighty spin,
yes i'm throwing all my chances
on one almighty spin.

i'd rather live a good life
than fake it,
rather have my heart ripped out
than get down on my knees,
i'd rather give you everything
than take it,
i'd like to help you neighbourboy
but you're just so hard to please.

i'd rather play the bitch card
than let the fuckers win,
rather take my chances
on one almighty spin,
yes i'm throwing all my chances
on one almighty spin.

Thursday, 24 April 2014

twenty five

as i unbelieve my body
play something sexy and evil,
there's a word for the surge that you give me
while i'm looking for  a very mellow drama,
draw my blood baby.
strip my skin so i can be truly naked,
draw my blood baby
while i'm looking for  a very mellow drama.
there's a word for the surge that you give me
play something sexy and evil
as i unbelieve my body.